


Loyalty Only To Me

by GrimSister21



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Burns, Deception, Dragons, Family Loss, Flemeth POV, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Murder, Secret Identity, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimSister21/pseuds/GrimSister21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows her wolf well. She has been his friend for years. She knows what he plans and knows how to stop it.<br/>All she needs now, is a champion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalty Only To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'll Shape Your Belief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042100) by [FoxNonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny). 



> Please note!  
> This ties into @FoxNonny's theory that Fen'Harel is somehow connected by blood to Fenris.  
> I believe that Flemeth has foreseen Solas's plan and had come up with a way to stop him.  
> This takes time during "I'll Shape Your Belief" and ties into the series "Child, the Darkness Will Rise", which I highly recommend.

The world is in change, and Flemeth watches.

There is a wonder in this world, a beauty that is called life. It is chaotic and messy and wonderful in it’s anarchy. And Flemeth welcomes it, with all it’s blessings and curses.

There is always a place here for a new flower to bloom. For a new leaf to turn over. A new companion to join this wonder called life.

Flemeth wonders what will Solas will make of this world once he has awakened.

If this is the world he wished to create. She allows herself to hope so, but knows that not to he the case.

Fen’Harel, Mythal notes, will see what the Vail caused and weep as he tries to fix it, killing thousands of innocents on his righteous path.

The real answer does not agree with her and Flemeth frowns to herself as she examines the lives Solas will squander order to retrieve that that has been lost.

‘Tis a waste, she thinks and vows to do something the matter once the occasion will raise.

In the meantime, she helps shape history. Helping all Thedas recognize her as a formidable foe or ally.

With the right words she makes men and women into leaders, leaders into heros, heroes into legends.

She makes plans, carefully watches the Dalish as they gather. It takes her ages to gain their trust, but she does. They call her Asha'bellanar.

They respect her, and that is good enough for now.

Blights come and go. Queens and kings raise and fall. The world changes, and Flemeth watches.

The werewolves return, a new nation is born, healing potions are rediscovered and behind it all, Flemeth, spinning her thread. Patiently waiting.

She is saddened when the griffins are killed to extinction, but at least knows that her beloved high dragons will return, eventually.

She locates herself in the Korcari wilds, in value of her privacy and the protection of her daughters. She raises them there, keeping a watchful eye on both them and the wolf in the Fade as she searches for someone worthy to be called her champion.

The Grey Wardens are allowed to return to Ferelden, a dwarf is named Peragon, the Qunari attack Tevinter.

She travels the world through the Fade. She sees magisters in search of power, Dwarves cheating their kind, Dalish sending their mage children away to protect them.

It is almost time.

The world changes and Flemeth watches.

Shockingly, the champion isn’t discovered by her. Not at first.

‘Tis Morrigan’s curiosity that does that.

She likes to run to the Lothering village once in awhile. She speaks with a boy who, much to Flemeth’s surprise, has no interest in her the same way most boys do.

It is odd. Morrigan is a beautiful girl, just as Flemeth was in her age, yet the boy seems more excited by her arcane knowledge and magical abilities than her physique and beauty.

Flemeth watches the two as they speak quietly in the outskirts of the village. She can sense the magic the both of them hold: Morrigan’s soft song of power is pale compared to that of the boy, who burns like the sun on hot summer’s day. He makes small jokes that she knows Morrigan would not take kindly to. Even if they’ve been made in good nature. He has yet to grow completely, more boy than man.

But Flemeth sees promise in him.

The boy’s name is Hawke.

Even though the interest she has is faint, Flemeth elects to keep watch over him.

She watches him in the Fade, looking for signs of distress. He watches over his younger siblings and is in need of being a responsible young man while his parents work at the field and in the house. However, he is a clever boy. He hides the magic he’s been blessed with.

And he does so quite well.

He is is witty, with strong hands and a sharp tongue. Anyone else, with a less keen eye and no sense if magic would think him a farmer.

A simple village boy with a simple life. Flemeth knows better.

She knows of the younger brother attempting to prove himself. Of the sister’s wishes for a normal life.

She knows of the boy’s father, pushing him to be the best, reminding him to never show his magic if unnecessary.

They are poor. Hungry. She discovers this one night when looking through the Fade for other champions, for those who are in need of encouragement, of pity, of compassion. The little bird she had adopted is crying, like the lost child he is. But nothing like the champion she needs.

Perhaps she needs to give up on the boy and continue her hunt.

After she will deal this problem.

Why are you crying, boy? She asks.

His eyes widen at her sight.

It makes sense, She is in a form of a high dragon. A fearsome, glorious creature that can destroy all that oppose her.

Well, don’t just stand there and stare. Answer me.This is meant to come out as an impatient demand, but instead sounds amused, almost friendly.

The small boy wipes his eyes and nose and gives her a last awed look before explaining: “I- I…”

He cries out a little more.

She does nothing to comfort him other then wait. There are two ghost images of children, a boy and a girl, both crying from hunger.

When the child calms down enough, he tries to explain again: “Bethy and Carver had to go to sleep hungry for the third night tonight.” He says with a sniffle.

You’re worried for your brother and sister, she states.

He nods, looking determined all of a sudden. The tears are still shining on his little cheeks. “I’m willing to make a deal with you, demon. Whatever you wish, to ensure that my family never go hungry again.”

Flemeth chuckles. This boy is brave.

Foolish, but brave.

I have no use of you or this little deal of yours, she gives him a toothy grin, as she cranes her long neck down so their eyes will be in the same level: But I will help in this matter. Those siblings of yours, are they your age? Older?

“Younger.”

Manners, boy.

“Younger, Dragon lady.”

There we go. The Fade changes to resemble that of a forest. Now, let us begin our lesson.

She spends the whole night teaching him of herbs. Roots and plants and flowers that are edible, as well as some poisonous ones.

When they separate, she knows he won’t tell anyone about her. Not even to his father. It shall be their little secret.

She smiles at the thought.

The years past, the world changes, and Flemeth watches.

She keeps search for her champion.

There is an elven girl in Lake Calenhad who seems promising, but Flemeth is skeptic. The girl lives in the circle and shows her away the moment Flemeth tries to reach out to her. “Begone, demon!” She cries to the empty mists of the Fade, her voice chasing the dragon.

Flemeth decides to keep a lookout for her. If only for that farosity.

Meanwhile, Hawke grows to a man.

Strong, powerful, proud.

She gladly notes he lacks the excusing look most mages acquire throughout the years. He does not seem to feel guilty for taking any of the space he needs, as most of his kind do. Nor does he immediately resort to magic, an influence of his father, most likely.

There are other reasons, of course: He knows that if he or the sister will reveal their magic, they’ll be forced to move again.

She notices that the younger brother seems a bit taken by one of the chantry sisters, and realizes that even if the boy is to be her champion, he will not do so willingly.

An obstacle she will pass in due time.

Morrigan notices her interest in the young man, and had suggest more than once that she’ll go for a walk in the woods while Flemeth will have a go at her prey. But Flemeth laughs at this. Even though he is a handsome young man, Hawke is yet just a boy.

For now, she need not approach him. She ties an anchor to lead her to him in the Fade. Just in case. Just so she’ll know where he is.

Life in Lothering is the calm before the storm. Flemeth can tell a blight is coming. She feels it in the air, the corruption has a disgusting sweet scent, almost similar to degeneration. She discovers a small tag from her anchor.

When she gets there, Hawke’s crying.

It is different than the tears she saw him shed as a young boy and realizes, sadly, that this is his only place of sanctuary.

Is there something troubling you? She asks. The young man doesn’t look at her, a small insult.

He keeps weeping those useless, silent tears.

I cannot help if you will not tell me what is wrong, She points out,rather impatiently, before sitting by his side.

He just keeps sitting there for a while, the Fade shaping and shifting around them in shapes of mist. Some of them them taking the shape of the boy’s father. Flameth shoos them with a quick bat of her wings.

She notices more tears going down the bristled face.

After waiting a little longer, he manages to choke out the words “My father...” before letting out a sob and hiding his face in his knees.

Flemeth doesn’t cuddle much. She is not known by her daughters as a comforting figure. But moments like these take her by surprise and tag on whatever compassion she has left.

I am sorry, She nuzzles her large nose gently against his face.

She would like to think Morrigan and Yavana would mourn her the same way, but she does not hope for much. Morrigan is a tough little thing and Yavana would never allow anyone to see her emotions.

She allows him to cry in her scales. She purrs, mostly to calm him, but also because she has nothing to say, and would not fill the silence with empty words.

I have an offer for you, She says once he relaxes enough to speak once more. He looks at her with questioning eyes.

A sleep free of dreams, She explains. It will work only for tonight, but it is all I can offer.

“A one night offer to get me snoring?” He chuckles, trying to hide the weakness he just exposed. “How can I refuse?”

She lets out a small laugh before nuzzles his forehead, using her magic on him and freeing him from the worries of this world. The small “Thank you, Dragon Lady,” ecos in her ears as she leaves him behind.

The younger brother tries to makes a name to himself. He foolishly joins the armies in Ostagar.

The family waits for his return, so they may leave as soon as possible. Flemeth wants to grab the three that remain and shake them. Remind them the darkspawn approach. That death is coming.

But she doesn’t. They must learn for themselves.

She meets an elven woman in the wild. Morrigan brought the future Grey Warden to collect the treaties from their little shack, and even though suspicious, the woman tries to be polite to her and Morrigan. She does not remember the dragon from her dreams.

Perhaps she does not want to.

However, Maric’s blood is more blunt. Sharp, but not as much as she’ve learned to expect from Fiona.

She can tell they will play an important role in the current blight.

She also notices how the halfling eyes his warden companion.

Lucky Morrigan, she thinks. You’ll get to see one of the most glorious yet ridiculous things mankind is capable of.

She continues her duties and plans. She knows of Fen’Harel’s little wolf. She knows he is related to the lad in a way and takes to watching him as well. Her anchor is smaller than that of Solas’s but still, not noticeable but enough for her to know.

For now, she waits.

The betrayal in Ostagar turns into something people will sing about for generations, as well as remember is as a tale of a man who had risen and became power hungry.

She sighs. She did attempt to warn Maric of this outcome. She wished he had listened.

Lothering is destroyed. The younger brother returned home licking his wounds only to run from the corruption the darkspawn carry.

She follows them for a while, slightly disappointed.

She had hoped her champion will prove to she has made the right choice and defeat the darkspawn who dared take his home, but he seems timid, still hiding. Still unsure.

Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps this boy, clever and talented as he may be, is not the champion she thought.

But then, the world turns again and things change once more.

The sister attempts to protect their mother from an ogre. She dies in the beast's hands, so swift and fast, she still looks shocked by it as her body is thrown to the dust.

It is not the waste of life that catches Flemeth’s interest as much as the effect it has upon Hawke:

Fury.

Pain twisted in anger and sorrow.

He becomes a storm of power and fire. He, a knight and the younger one, all attack the monster to avenge the girl’s death. The boy nearly takes it down all by himself.

It is when the darkspawn nearly takes them that she decides to intervene.

Later, there will be books describing this moment. They will try to describe her in all the glory and majesty a high dragon can master. Which is much.

She emerges, theatrical, impressive, dangerous, and burns some of the horde as she swoops down.

The poor corrupted creatures are screaming in pain as she lands in the middle of the battlefield, turning human again in a swift and elegant motion.

She notices the templar’s corruption, in the way he moves and slouches as his knight tries to help him best she could.

She notices the mother, still holding the body of her daughter.

She notices the glares of suspicion from the younger brother, as well as the elder one.

Hawke has grown since she last saw him: He seems even stronger, broader and, as tribute to his late father, grown a beard. He is also scared, and angry and most likely still grieving the sister he had just lost.

There is no spark of recognition in his eye when he sees her. Good.  

“Well, well, What do we have here?” Mythal remarks, mocking the two of them.

Most likely they will not attack given a good reason to. And even so, they are battered and tired. She could diminish them easily.

“It used to be we never got visitors in the wilds. But now it seems they arrive in hordes!”

Always try a friendly approach first. There will always be time for cruelty after.

“Impressive.” He slips into the sarcasm as one would wear an armor. An act Flemeth knows all too well.

His smile is weak, exhausted.

Poor thing, you have yet to know what your future holds. “Where did you learn to turn into a dragon?”

Flemeth chuckles.

She wished to speak to the boy in person for years now.

“Perhaps I am a dragon,” She does like this child and his clever tongue. “If so, Count yourself lucky the smell of burning darkspawn does nothing to the appetite.”

Well, to business, then.

“If you wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know you are headed in the wrong direction.”

She turns away, as though planning to spread her wings and fly away.

“Wait!” Shouts the younger sibling. He looks worried, confused. Terrified

Perfect.

“You can’t just leave us here!” the demand in his voice leaves a sour taste in Flemeth’s mouth.

No one dared speak to her that way in centuries now. Little Hawke will do well to learn some manners.

“Can I not?” She asks, almost tempted to leave them in the wilds for the next horde.

Almost.

“I spotted the most curious sight: A mighty ogre, vanquished. Who could perform such a feat? But now my curiousity has been sated and you are safe. For the moment.”

She looks at the group before adding: ”Is that not enough?”

She knows very well it isn’t.

But her little bird surprises her when he answers, without missing a beat: “You can show me that trick of yours. That looks useful.”

Nice try, boy.

She haven’t shown this trick to anyone else. Not even Morrigan knows how to perform such a feat.

And Yavana learned it only after years of self teaching and research.

With a chuckle,  Mythal retorts:” If only a clever tongue was all one needed…”

She smiles at him and his brother. “Tell me, clever child, how do you intend to outrun the Blight?”

“We’re going to Kirkwall,” The smaller bird replays without thinking. “In the Free Marches.”

My, what luck, Flemeth smiles. Precisely what she needs. She does have a contingency plan in case Morrigan will be manipulated as expected.

“Kirkwall.” She says politely. “My. That is quite the voiage you are planning. So far, simply to flee the darkspawn.”

Hawke’s face hardens. Like her girls, he does not like being questioned for his reasons. Young people tend to think they know what is best, after all.

“Any other suggestions?” The bit in his tone in venomous. “I hear the Deep Roads are vacant right now.” No one has gotten her to laugh on purpose in years.

“Oh,” She smiles. “You I like!” She wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Hurtled into the chaos you fight … And the world will shake before you.”

He raises an eyebrow at this.

Nevermind that, he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out.

Eventually.

Is it fate or chance? She can never decide…

Her little candidate and his kin are headed exactly where she wishes to go. Most likely, they will not be followed.

To a naked eyes, just another family trying to escape the blight. Solas shall awaken soon, he will wish to destroy this world, and Mythal must stop him.

Well, one last test won’t hurt.

If this young man can keep up with her orders, she will make him her champion. “It appears fortune smiles upon us both today. I may be able to help you yet. “

There’s that look. The same look she gets from everyone she meets when offering to help.

Nothing is for free these days. “There must be a catch.”

Clever little bird.

“There is always a catch!” She laughs. “Life is a catch!” With another purr, she adds: ”I suggest you catch it while you can.”

The brother moves uncomfortably, placing a hand on his elder’s shoulder: “Should we even trust her? We don’t even know what she is.”

“I do”, says the knight, still attending to her husband. The poison slowly killing him, inch by inch.“The Witch of the Wilds.”

“Some call me that,” Flemeth shrugs. “Also Flemeth, Asha'bellanar. An old hag that talks to much.”

The last is one of Morrigan's favorite names for her. But she still counts it, though. Names are such an easy thing to switch. Some trade them more frequently than their smalls.

“Does it matter? I offer you this: I will get your group past the horde in exchange for a simple delivery to a place not far from your way. Will you do that for a ‘Witch of the Wilds’?”

Hawke looks at her, considering, biting his lip. He looks at his brother, tired, dirty with the blood of the tainted and dust. Than looks at his mother, still lovingly holding the body of the sister he lost.

The poison in the Templar’s body, though not known to them yet, is also considered in his calculations. His face frowns with worry that he is trying to mask. And doing a very poor job at it.

“Roast a few more darkspawn and I’ll do anything you want.” He jokes.  

There we go, boy. I knew you’d see it my way.  

“Sadly, my charity is at an end.” She gives him simple task: He is to deliver a talisman to keeper Marathari of the clan Sabrae, who camp in the outskirts of Kirkwall. This should take care of the possibility of Morrigan sending her new friends against her.

It will also help keep her appointment.

The knight’s husband is given a merciful death before they leave and the knight cries every night until they arrive to Amarantine and hides her sorrow during the days.

It will take months, even years, before she’ll be capable to love again.

Mythal knows. She’s been there.

The world changes and Flemeth watches.

Morrigan does, eventually, send people after her. They come with another elf and a golem, as well as the halfling bastard. She puts up quite the fight, if one is to say so themselves. Morrigan will be pleased to know she has perished in a glorious battle.

Luckily, she still has a drawer plan.

Her candidate has her amulet, and if he succeeds this test, she will be free to roam the land once more.

The next time she sees the boy, he is her champion.

Her necklace has been burned upon Mythal’s altar, and her body is now a new.

“Ah!” Flemeth gasps as she leaps off the stone, spring and free as a girl. Being reborn always feels somewhat odd. She has done it many times, and still is unaccustomed to the feel. Like a house you’ve have yet to make your home. “And here we are!”

A child, the keeper’s first, no doubt, welcomes her with a formal Elven greeting and a deep bow. It pains her to see  how easily the girl accepts her as the superior one and makes sure to tell her so before-

“Witch!”

Addressing her champion. Ah, Fen’lan. Interesting.

What ever is the little wolf-spawn doing in a place like this? She examines him for a moment. Handsome, like his father. Same tall figure and high cheekbones and strong presence. Though his skin tone is much darker, she can see the similarities in both men's features.

Than she notices the lyrium etched in his skin.

Fen’harel should take better care of his kin.

She knows where her girls are, even at this very moment.

“So refreshing, “She tells her champion. “To see someone who keeps their end of a bargain. I half expected my amulet to end in a merchant’s pocket!”

If that would have been the case, mercy upon the poor merchant who agreed to keep her locked in away in such a manner.

She notices how time has shifted, she can see it in the staff Hawke holds, the handle was bright and new when first met, and now it is old and battered. Both Hawkes are terrible, tired and worn. Most likely it is thanks to the city of chains and the toll it takes of it’s poor.

Hawke is obviously mad Flemeth haven't told him he was smuggling her past the ocean. But she explains. As best as she can . As much as she can. It will make little to no sense to them now.

Perhaps they’ll be clearer in a few more years.

Once the questions begin to linger, to confuse her handsome champion’s pretty head, she simply walks to him and holds his head in her gauntleted hands:

“You need not understand, child. Know only that you may have saved my life, just as I once saved yours.” She lets go of him before adding: “An even trade, I think.”

“You are no simple witch,” Solas’s boy interject.

Such a curious lad. The chains are broken, but are you truly free? Flemeth wonders, not even noticing she said it out loud until the boy physically backs away from her, just as his father does when she speaks lightly of murder.

“You see great deal.”

There is bitterness in those words.

“I am a fly in the ointment, I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old-old woman. More than that, you need not now.”

Her answer clearly doesn’t satisfy the wolfling, but he doesn’t push any farther.

“You have plans, I take it?” Hawke asks with caution.

Yes. I do, she thinks.

And you will take a great deal in them.

“Destiny awaits us both, dear boy. We have much to do.” And so little time. “Before I go, word of advice?” She sees the future and what it hold for this man.

All is great and none are at the same time:

Fortune, love, loss, despair…

So much in only just one life.

Yes, she has chosen well.

“We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.”

Almost to herself, Mythal adds: “Only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

“Cheap advice, from a dragon,” He mumbles bitterly.

Not letting that one go, eh, boy? “We all have our challenges,” She shrugs. With what she hopes is motherly advice to both the young Hawke and the first.

She leaves her lad with a finale greeting: “You have my thanks... And my sympathy.”

With that, she turns, leaving them behind as a high dragon crosses the sky.

The world changes and Flemeth watches.

Morrigan is pregnant. The archdemon is slain. The elven woman and Maric’s bastard go their separate ways, unwillingly as it may be.

Alistair marries his brother’s widow: An ambitious and bright young lady just like her father, who was graced with an intellect far superior to him.

Her champion makes a name to himself, as well as a fortune. He and his mother live in a nice house in the richer side of the hovel that is Kirkwall. It will be three years until she sees him again.

The tag indicates he is in pain, perhaps suffering.

Maybe the boy is facing torture.

It is not until she comes to him, that she sees the pain he feels in emotional. Not physical. About to scold, she notices the memory.

Fen’lan.

Oh.

**_Oh._ **

The memory is standing by the fire and looking as though he is in immense pain. He is pulling away from Hawke, trying to explain himself. To excuse why he must leave.

This is… surprising.

Yes, it works well with her plan. But this also was very unexpected.

“We can work through this,” Hawke’s memory tries to calm him. To show he is willing to help in whatever way he can. But the boy is stubborn and leaves. Even though Flemeth can tell he is itching to look back, he doesn’t.

When the memory is over, her little bird cuddles into a tight ball. It’s sad and pathetic, to see such a strong man act like a child. But understandable, given the circumstances.

 _I never knew you liked men_ , She muses when she is certain he is listening.

Hawke knows this form as nothing more than a malevolent spirit willing to help. He has never connected between her and the witch he helped years ago. Nor should he.

The ball tightens. “I like both,” he mumbles to his knees, sounding like a spiteful child. He doesn’t cry over this.

It is a different kind of pain. A deeper one, one that Flemeth haven't felt in hundreds of years.

And with good reason. It reduces people to become a pathetic mess.

“Come on. Tell me I’m being a stupid twat. Just yell at me. Scold me and get it over with.”

She wants to. She really does. But she discovers she cannot. _Kicking you at your lowest? You seem to be doing that quite well on your own._

A shrug.

 _My sweet boy,_ She take him under her wing, using it as a blanket.

He doesn’t react.

_This pain you feel will pass. You will cure your heart. Either it is with anger or regret, is up to you. Either way, it will take time for it to heal._

“I love him, Dragon Lady,” He says stubbornly.

She groans. Those two stubborn children were made for each other.

“I know, it sounds like some sappy romance novel.”

 _Perhaps. But we fight for that which we find worthy_. This gains her a surprised look from the young man. Not just surprised. Relieved, as well.

“Thank you.” He whispers to her scales.

They sit like this in silence for awhile. Her purring and him just cuddled under her wing.

“Dragon Lady?”

_Hmm?_

“You allowed me not to dream a few years ago. Can you do it again? Please?”

The dragon nuzzles him before answering. _No, my boy._

Hawke frowns, but lets her continue show her affection.

_This pain you feel, it is there for a reason. I believe you are to contemplate on it for a some time before deciding whether or not you should move on._

A terrible, sad look.

_Oh, come now. You won’t feel this way forever. This is a pain of which you can grow and become stronger._

When she finally leaves, she elects to takes a risk, show Solas what his clever son has done. Her cackle chaises the wolf through the Fade.


End file.
